It's a Deal
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Eric isn't as smart as Alex, and he's sure Alex knows it. Which he does. But they're friends, however odd a pair they might make. And when Alex starts talking about an idea he's got one day after school, it's Eric who realises just how good an idea it is. It's Eric who chooses to make it real.
1. Chapter 1- After School

**Chapter I- After School**

Alex was one of the best piano players at his high school. Actually, when one dispensed with the modesty, he was the best. This wasn't idle bragging; it was simple fact. Nobody played the Classical greats better than Alex did. He knew it, and anyone who'd ever heard him play knew it too. The trouble was that most at his high school had either never heard him play or- more often than not- simply didn't care. They just didn't appreciate his talents, didn't respect his accomplishments. At sixteen, a junior in high school with no real plans for what was to come next, Alex played the piano better than anyone there and got nothing but grief for it. He'd get ignored some days, have spitballs tossed at him in class on others. On the worst of days he'd get slammed up against lockers or have the straps on his bookbag broken; Alex was smart, though, and had many years' of experience in waiting to get what he wanted.

But he ignored them.

Nearly always, he ignored all those idiots; even the ones who he might have retaliated against, he usually let go. They never changed, those morons, and trying to fight them and inevitably losing wouldn't change a thing.

He didn't always; some days Alex would go to great lengths to see that someone who made his day worse had theirs get a bit shittier in turn, all of a sudden. On certain days, a popular football player's Tahoe might have a flat tire because Alex left school five minutes early, or his buddy's Mustang would inexplicably have the clamps on its muffler gone. One day Alex ditched seventh period and took the key to his house to the side of the football team captain's car. After admiring his work for a minute, Alex walked home, smiling all the way. That had been late in sophomore year, one of the best days Alex ever had in a long time.

But that was the exception. Many of Alex's days in high school had been boring. Some had been bad; and nearly all of them had been lonely.

One day in freshman year, Alex had been asked to write a short paper for English class. The teacher asked each of them to write a paragraph about what they thought of high school. After three years of misery in middle school, Alex was already coming to find high school was really no better, because now he could see the day coming when he could now get mocked for something new- his lack of ownership of a sufficiently 'cool' car. The definition of what was cool and uncool among high schoolers changed constantly, but Alex was pretty sure a 1976 Volvo in a perfectly bland shade of yellow would never be in the 'cool' category. He was going to school with all the same people, and soon the day would be coming when he'd never get a date at that school again. No girl was gonna be caught dead in that car his parents had left over for him.

So after not even two minutes, Alex scrawled two sentences on his paper and turned it in. When the teacher read each of the responses placed on her desk, her eyebrows went up at one. That was when Alex knew she'd reached his; she could hardly seem to believe the words were there. But she read aloud, "To me, high school is like Hell. You get up and go to Hell every day."

The class burst into laughter; they thought it was funny. Sitting in the back, unnoticed and unknown in his mismatched and non-designer clothes, Alex sat in silent, helpless fury. They thought it was _funny_! He wanted to pick up his desk and throw it at the two stupid jocks in the front row, making jokes and wondering aloud what loser had written that note.

_Yeah_, Alex had thought, _the both of you are gonna go pro. Football's gonna get you a future for sure._

But he didn't care that nobody in the class took what he wrote seriously; Alex knew it was true for all of them.

Alex didn't even care that the teacher recognized his handwriting, or that she had seen his glowering look and kept him after 7th hour that day, concerned and asking him why he'd written something so negative. Alex just shrugged, passing it off by saying it was no more or less than the first thing that had come to his mind. Mrs. Lewinsky told Alex to keep his chin up, stay positive; one day he would look back at these four years as some of the best days of his life.

_Yeah_, Alex thought as he left the classroom that day, _and on that same day pigs will join the 82__nd__ Airborne._

But that day had actually ended up being just what Mrs. Lewinsky promised about high school itself; that day in September 1999 had turned out to be one of the best days of Alex's life.

Waiting for him outside of class was a skinny blonde kid; lean and clearly, what substance he had was mostly muscle- much like Alex. He had crisp blue eyes, a fairly handsome face, and short-cut blonde hair. It had an odd, choppy look to it, though, like he often had to do it himself with a pair of scissors and wasn't very good at it besides. He had even shabbier clothes than Alex did, which immediately made Alex wonder how uncool a car he'd end up driving once License Day came.

Or if he'd drive anything at all.

Alex had stared the kid down for a moment; leaning up against one of the many lockers in the hallway and affecting a casual attitude, he seemed to have been trying to make it look like he hadn't just been there waiting for Alex to come out of the classroom. But Alex wasn't stupid; he was very smart by anyone's account- even the morons who loved pummeling him in the locker room in PE knew Alex was smarter than they were. This kid's lightbulb didn't seem as bright as Alex's… but at the same time, he was no dumbass football player. And he was waiting for a guy he otherwise didn't know in English class; briefly Alex wondered if this kid, too, had figured out who'd written that unusual note today.

Keeping his voice even, Alex asked warily, "You need something, man?"

"Dog," the kid said, and right away Alex knew it was one of the blonde's favourite words. He probably called everybody 'dog,' aside from the ones he addressed as 'man'. "Dog," the kid said again, confirming Alex's first thought. He clearly liked just saying the word. And taking his time. Just as Alex was starting to get annoyed, the blonde continued to say, "I know you wrote that funny paper in English today."

Now Alex did get irritated, but made a point of not showing it. He had excellent control over his emotions- most of the time. Even better, though, was Alex's ability to control what showed on his face. So he kept his face plain, and just said, "Oh, yeah? You thought it was funny, too?"

The blonde shook his head. "No. But the jocks did."

Alex snorted. "They find a lot of things funny. It's like monkeys and bananas."

"Or monkeys and shit."

There Alex had paused; he looked at the blonde curiously, still leaning up against the locker looking perfectly chilled out. This kid seemed… different. Alex prided himself as being an outstanding judge of character, and his first impression of someone nearly always held true with what he ended up thinking once he knew them.

How hadn't he _noticed_ this kid before?

He recalled they'd gone to the same middle school; they'd shared few classes, and somehow or another simply just never found reason to meet. But they'd never had a problem with one another, and if nothing else were two average students at an overrated suburban middle school, just trying to get by and hoping to be left alone. Alex suddenly had a feeling that the blonde, too, had mostly failed to get his wish in those days.

So Alex had let curiosity get the best of him then. He'd just asked what the kid had wanted, and he just shrugged again. "I just wanna talk. You busy?"

Alex shook his head; it was the truth. "Not really."

Mrs. Lewinsky chose that moment to exit the classroom, though, and as she locked it up for the day gave them an odd look. Students did not usually hang around in the hallway like this after school- most were in a big hurry to get home and do something they actually wanted to do. And something else made her eyebrows go up a little more, once she noticed- she'd thought these two didn't know each other, and already she could tell Alex wasn't the type who easily made friends. Yet here he was in the hallway with a boy he simply shared a class or two with, talking like he had nothing better to do.

As Mrs. Lewinsky headed off, Alex started to leave as well. The blonde fell into step with him, and for some reason Alex hadn't objected. He pushed open one of the double doors at the end of the hall and started the walk home; the buses had already left, and Alex rarely rode them anyway. He was rid of the idiots he hated sooner if he took the extra time and walked.

The blonde stuck with him for only a short time, asking questions like "Dog, why'd you write that?" and "I thought it was cool, man. How'd you think of it?"

Finally, Alex just shrugged. "I hate high school."

The blonde had stared down at the ground then, looking a little sad. He seemed to be thinking about more than just high school when he said, "Yeah. Me, too."

Alex had stopped walking then; he did it so suddenly the blonde boy didn't even expect it, and walked on for a moment before noticing. Alex then walked up towards him, holding out a hand and smiling a little. "Alex," he said simply.

The blonde had taken the hand offered, shaking it and smiling a bit in return.

"Eric."

It was almost as if an agreement had been reached that day; Eric had been forced to admit soon after that he lived in the opposite direction, and had headed for home. But they'd sat beside each other in English class every day after that one freshman year. And the agreement they reached when shaking hands had been simple- they'd been good friends ever since.

That had been two years ago now; it was August 2001, and Alex was at home playing the old piano in his room in the basement. Eric was sprawled out on his bed, wearing a t-shirt with the arms cut off that was a little too big for him, almost looking like a pillow case, and faded blue jeans. His worn, frayed sneakers were carelessly tossed off to one side of the room- Eric hated how poor he was, and Alex had quickly learned the best thing you could do was not mention it.

Eric would fast become angry if mocked for his family's lack of money, was fiercely protective of his mother despite her constantly lousy choices of boyfriends, and overall had one of the most peculiar senses of pride Alex had ever seen. Many times through freshman and sophomore year they had sat together at lunch, and more than once Alex had offered Eric a share of what he'd brought, or offer some money he didn't need so Eric could buy some of the school's overpriced Burger Town stuff.

But every time Alex offered, Eric not only refused, but became very flustered and embarrassed if Alex persisted. Alex could tell easily his friend had no actual reason for saying no- he just didn't want to admit it. He'd make up every excuse in the book, and once became angry enough that Alex was startled at how much these things meant to the blonde with the choppy-cut short hair. Whatever else could be said about him, Eric had his pride. Maybe that was why it meant so much to him; at the end of the day, pride might have been about all Eric had.

What Alex took to doing as a compromise, on some days when he could tell Eric was really hurting- hiding the fact that he simply had nothing to eat- was 'forgetting' a $5 bill or something like that, slipping it out of his pocket then getting up to throw out his trash. He'd make some excuse, heading off for class early or whatever, then leave.

The first time he'd done that, leaving a note with Lincoln's face on the front right where he'd been sitting next to Eric, he glanced back when he knew Eric could no longer easily see him. Eric had been staring down at the money, his face a special tinge of pink. He looked furious and grateful, all at the same time. When Alex had returned from the bathroom, though, and glanced back across the cafeteria, he'd noticed Eric sitting back where they'd been, glowering at some jocks while he resolutely chomped away at a cheeseburger. Alex had smiled, and gone on to class. That had been the way he'd handled it ever since.

Eric had never said a thing about any of it to Alex after that, and the dark-haired teen knew better than to ask. But that had been a ways into their freshman year, and Alex knew Eric appreciated it in his own way. Over the next few years, Alex and Eric had steadily become good, and then best friends. Eric, Alex suspected, was even coming to worship him- he began picking up mannerisms Alex had, like saying "shitter" or "shitters" about people he really hated, and saying he didn't give a "tin shit" when he most definitely did not care. Eric was acting as if he'd never had someone treat him this good in his life, and hero-worship was the only way he knew how to return it.

Alex had been very moved when he considered, one day, there was a very _real_ chance that was true.

And it wasn't as if being friends with Eric didn't have pluses for Alex; he realised Eric was nothing if not a good listener; he loved hearing Alex's angry rants about the things wrong with society and with the world. He could always offer Alex an opinion about something, many times surprising Alex by pointing out things he hadn't considered before.

Many people at the high school Alex attended did not appreciate Alex's great artistic and musical talents. He was a writer, a poet, a thinker, a boy who could craft pieces in ceramics class that would stun even the teacher. But he was an inept basketball player, a lousy baseball player, and absolutely hopeless at football. He did not care what a touchdown was, and all the bigshots at his school knew it.

Most guys- and girls- at Alex's school could have cared less how well Alex played the piano.

Eric was an exception.

Today Alex was working his way through Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata", his favourite piece from the great Beethoven besides "Für Elise". Alex loved playing Beethoven; it made him feel at peace with himself and the world, no matter how bad things were. But Alex had a fierce temper, one he'd had to spend years gradually learning to control as he grew up. It could flare at times even now, and on rare occasions suddenly explode.

So far, so good; Alex's hands and fingers moved across the keys with practiced ease, knowing already where to go and when to go there. The music flowed, and even with the piano out-of-tune and old it would leave Eric entranced for about as long as his friend played. Eric could barely play even one note and not mess it up, but he loved watching Alex play. "You look so peaceful, dog," he said once, when Alex asked why he liked watching so much. "And you're really, _really_ good."

Alex had smiled at that. Praise wasn't a bad thing when there was damn good reason for it.

But today wasn't Alex's day, not even with something he normally had mastered any day of the week. His fingers missed a key, then hit the wrong one and messed up a note entirely. Then he forgot he was even playing the "Moonlight Sonata" for a second and started trying to segue into Mozart's "5th Symphony" at the same time. Alex swore violently, trying to get back on track, but he'd lost it. The whole piece was bolloxed up, and there wasn't any bringing it back. Fury surged into Alex, and he balled his hands into fists, slamming them down on the keys.

"Shit," Alex yelled, his voice rising in fury. "Shit. Fuck! GOD-_DAMNIT_!"

Eric sat up on Alex's bed, his eyes wide and his expression concerned. "Dude," he asked, "what's wrong?"

"I screwed up the _fucking_ Moonlight Sonata," Alex shouted, completely pissed off now. "That's fucking _what_!"

It was a good thing Alex's parents were both staying late at work today. On the rare occasion Alex got mad like this, he tended to yell at a level that could easily be heard through the whole house.

Eric started to say something else, but Alex abruptly started picking up books from his shelf beside the piano, hurling them across the room. "Fuck!" he yelled, getting angrier all the time. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"Dude," Eric said, "watch out for your fucking computer!"

"_Fuckit_!" Alex threw a dictionary. It hit the wall with a thunk.

Suddenly he stopped, looking at Eric sitting up on the bed. A magazine from the gun store "Ammunation" lay open beside him; Alex got regular issues of those, and clearly Eric had been reading it.

"What were you reading?" Alex asked, his breathing slowing a little as he became curious. He already knew what Eric had been reading; what Alex wanted to know was why.

Eric looked at Alex cautiously, as if worried the sudden tirade of fury would come back if he moved too quickly. But Alex just stood there waiting for an answer, so after a moment Eric must have decided it was safe.

"Dog," Eric said, "I was looking at this."

He held up the magazine- Ammunation had an article saying that in the next year or so, they'd be doing clearances on TEC-9 submachine guns. There was another one, talking about the role Ammunation had played in securing a large number of AR-15s for the civilian market.

"Dog," Alex said with a hint of sarcasm, "you thinking about shooting some _dogs_?"

Eric smiled a little, but shook his head. "Naw, dog," he said. "It's more fun to shoot people."


	2. Chapter 2- One Good Idea

**Chapter II- One Good Idea**

Alex paused, looking at the blonde curiously. "What's that about shooting people?"

Eric just smiled that sly smile again; it was like he'd already been thinking about this, and was enjoying the fact that he knew something Alex didn't.

But just what had Eric been thinking about?

Finally, when it looked like Eric wasn't going to say anything more just yet, Alex sighed irritably and walked across the room, sitting down at the office-surplus chair and starting it up.

Alex was playing what was easily his favourite PC game- Renegade Massacre- and was taking on about fifty of Hell's demons at once when Eric came up behind him, leaning on the back of the chair. It creaked slightly, tilting back just a little as Eric added some weight.

"Hey," Eric said suddenly, "that place looks kinda like our high school."

Alex laughed; as it happened, the joke meant more than the whole 'High School Is Hell' thing. The level Alex was on, with its long, squared-off corridors and gray, boring architecture that always looked exactly alike, almost did bear a passing resemblance to Alex and Eric's high school.

Eric continued, in that semi-distant voice he seemed to use any time he was really thinking about something, "Could you just fuckin' imagine, man… if those fuckers were jocks instead of those demon-things?"

Alex snorted. "They look better than the jocks, if you ask me."

Eric laughed, but said again, "Just think about it, man. Taking that big fuckin' gun your guy's got, and just blowin' 'em the _fuck_ away…"

Something in the blonde's voice made Alex turn around; he only just remembered to pause the game first.

Eric's eyes were still focused on the computer screen, and he had a distant look in his eyes, a dreamy look on his face. Alex found himself truly and profoundly impressed with Eric for the first time; Eric was seriously wishing he could do it.

Alex considered this; he'd actually had ideas of his own about this before. Nothing real serious, no specific plans of murder and revenge. Just… ideas. Well, and his hand-drawn maps of his middle school- maps he still kept hidden and treasured- that detailed his studies of just where to plant explosives at the school's key structural points. Blow them all at once, and a successful, complete detonation would have brought that fucker down. Alex had for so long wished he could actually do that; his hateful fantasies got him through many awful days. But he'd ended up shelving those plans; they called for too much. He'd need more than most any middle school student could hope to get in arms and equipment, he'd need a car- and he'd need help. At least one other person would be needed to quickly assemble and move the bombs on the morning of the attack- someone Alex could trust with anything.

He hadn't had that kind of help in middle school. But… was there a chance things were different now, three years later?

"You hear about those two guys, shot up that mall in '95?" Alex asked, and he was hardly surprised when Eric nodded. It made sense, somehow, that both of them had heard about it on the news- it just figured they'd both have found it intriguing in just the same way.

The dark-haired teen paused for a moment, hesitant. Should he go on? He'd known Eric for about two years now, and considered him as good a friend as he had anywhere at his high school. But was Eric a good enough friend to trust with this?

_Say something_, a voice in Alex's head told him. _Just say something, and see how he reacts_.

Finally, Alex did so. "Well," he began, "in middle school I got to thinking about that some more. Wishing Cameron and Neal could have fucked up Jerry T. Rush Middle School instead of that mall."

Eric just waited patiently.

After a moment, Alex went on, "So I wrote these maps up. How many people were in the cafeteria at lunch, the bell schedule, how many home-made bombs you'd need to drop the roof of the school on everybody…" Alex smiled a bit at the memory; he suspected the smile wasn't a very kind one. Finally, Alex just shrugged. "Shit like that. I hated that place; thinking about killing everybody there, about blowing it straight to hell, helped me get through some shitty days."

Eric, still leaning on the chair with Alex looking up at him, was mesmerized. His eyes lit up, and it was clear he liked what he was hearing. In fact, he seemed so stunned at Alex's bold ideas that he had been struck dumb. Eric just couldn't think of what to say.

Emboldened, Alex went on rather disappointedly, "But there's no way I coulda done it. Can't get military-grade explosives unless you're, like, in Special Forces or some shit. And big home-made bombs, like propane tanks, you'd need a car for. Plus you'd want guns, and that's a whole other bunch of problems."

Alex just shook his head, bitterly disappointed just thinking about it. But when he looked up, Eric was looking at him oddly. He seemed to have a lightbulb on in his head; Eric's face was brightening with every moment. He'd definitely just heard some things he wanted very much to hear.

"Dude," Eric said quietly and carefully, as if worried speaking too fast would be dangerous right now, "Why don't you _do_ it?"

Alex shrugged again. "I told you, man. It wouldn't have worked, not back then. I mean, I dunno about now-"

Eric suddenly nodded eagerly. "Yeah, dude," he said. "Why not do something like that… now?"

Alex stared back uncertainly, not sure of what he was hearing, or just what Eric was getting at. "I'd need help."

"You've _got_ help," Eric said immediately, and Alex nodded slowly after a moment.

_He's serious._

Trying again, not yet willing to believe all this was real, Alex said, "Well, we'd need money-"

"I'll break into some stores," Eric said, and Alex laughed. The idea was kind of exciting, and Eric almost seemed like he had the right kind of cunning to be a good burglar. Then Alex suddenly remembered something from freshman year; Eric had mentioned, almost as a joke more than anything, that he didn't want to go back to juvy just yet. Alex now remembered that, not so long ago, Eric had been a burglar. And maybe a reasonably good one.

Finally, Alex shook his head. "Not necessary, man. I got an uncle's rich as fuck. He's always trying to give me shit, and if I told him I wanted some money, he'd probably give it to me. I can always make up good reasons for shit like that."

Eric nodded, smiling hopefully. "So how about it?"

Alex stared back curiously, for once on the other side of the table- this time, he was the one that was a bit slow on the uptake. "How about _what_?"

Eric just grinned. "How about we do that plan of yours?"

The dark-haired teen laughed a bit, but the excitement in him was building. Eric was serious; he wanted to help him make this real.

And on the heels of that, a crazy thought occurred to Alex: _We_ _just might be able to do it._

Alex stood up, walking back towards his bed and flopping down on it. Eric joined him after a moment, picking up the Ammunation magazine again. Alex pointed at the AR-15. Starting to become serious but maintaining a light tone as best he could- perhaps to hide just how thrilled Eric's suggestion made him- Alex said, "You could kill 30 people in less than a minute with that. You know how to use one of those?"

Eric suddenly got a funny look on his face and grabbed his crotch. "You know how to use one of _those_?"

Alex just shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. Eric was so juvenile sometimes… but he deserved to have his offer answered. Alex could tell this sort of thing didn't come your way often- in most people's lives, such an opportunity never even appeared so much as once.

Continuing the what-if talk, Alex gestured again at the magazine. "Well," he said, "what would you want? Which one would _you_ wanna gun down the football team with?"

Eric laughed, his face brightening at the idea. In a way, Alex liked seeing Eric's face light up like that; he understood enough of the hardships Eric endured at home to see that there was a reason Eric found every excuse possible to be out of his own house. It made Alex feel good, in a way he hadn't really expected, to see Eric's day made a little brighter by something he, Alex, said or did.

After only a moment, Eric pointed to the picture of the TEC-9 sub-machine gun. "That one," he said, tapping the page. "I'd take 'em _all_ on with that."

Alex leaned over to look, and resisted the urge to shake his head in dismay. Eric was a bit of an amateur with guns; he thought the TEC-9's popularity with gangs and rappers made it worth something as a weapon. In truth, Alex understood it was popular mostly because it was flashy, loud and cheap. That made a great weapon for movies or gang shootouts, but there was a reason few soldiers carried it in first-world countries.

But Alex glanced up at his friend, and was somewhat surprised to see Eric looking at him. The blonde was trying to hide it, but there was a hopeful, expectant look visible on his face.

_He's waiting to see what I say_, Alex realised after a moment. _He's_ _hoping to hear my approval_.

Alex mentally shrugged after a moment; if that was his friend's choice, then so be it. And besides- there were certainly worse guns. There were even SMG's that jammed more than the TEC-9, and a good, well-cleaned example might just be good enough for shooting up a suburban high school. Little sand or mud to be found there, certainly.

So Alex smiled, even though his bullshit meter went up just a little. "Well," he said, his grin widening as his mind already began envisioning the attack, the plans behind it and all the dollars and dates that would have to be met to make it happen, "Tell you what. We got about a year to work on this. I think I might be able to use one of my dad's credit cards to get some shit online. That, and talk to my Uncle Charlie."

Alex paused for a moment, then turned to look directly at Eric. "When we get to the point where we're picking out our guns, I'll get my AR and you'll get the TEC-9. But you gotta help me put together the propane bombs and get blueprints of the school. How about that?"

Eric grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Dog, I'm shaking on that."

Alex grinned back; he was still reluctant to admit it, but he'd hardly ever been so thrilled in all his life. "It's a deal," Alex said with his most winning smile, and they shook hands.

The two talked and talked about everything and nothing for the rest of the afternoon; they played Renegade Massacre, taking turns at it and naming the ugliest demons and bosses after their favourite jocks at school. When the sun finally started to go down and Eric had to start for home, Alex shook hands with him again, telling Eric he'd always have a place to stay if his own home wasn't enough. Eric smiled shyly, turning a little pink and saying, "Thanks." Alex smiled a bit as he sat at his desk after Alex had gone, starting to draw up the plans his mind was already working overtime on creating. Timetables, budget proposals, dates and times for the assault itself and how the explosives- they'd already decided on heavy propane tanks, as big as your typical grocery store sold- were to fit into it. Alex worked on that stuff until the minute his parents came home, then hid them inside his Biology textbook and headed up to dinner without a hitch. He passed his good mood off as simply having had a good day at school; that was a lie, since he'd had a terrible one. But it was truth in its own way, too- Alex had ended up having a good day today. A very good one.

Two days later, Alex got called up to the principal's office, having to leave 4th Hour- PE class- early to do so. While Mr. Luce grilled Alex about his steadily rising number of tardies and skipped classes, and how important proper attendance was for learning responsibility, Alex began to fidget. He was growing increasingly nervous; Mr. Luce pressed on, encouraged by the sight and sense of Alex's unease, sure it meant he'd found a boy with a guilty conscience and needed to pressure him on it for his own good. But it had nothing to do with that- nothing at all.

PE class was the part of the day where the jocks ran the show, and more than a few dominated the 4th hour session Alex and Eric were in. They typically took the mockery of their skinny bodies together, as brothers endured the laughter and occasional pushing or shoving. But now Eric was all by himself in that locker room- and unlike Alex he'd never really learned how to pick his battles. He always tried to fight back.

Alex almost bolted out of the office when Mr. Luce finally let him go, hoping he'd get there in time. But the locker room was empty; class had ended ten minutes ago, and even Eric was already gone.

Suddenly furious, Alex lashed out and kicked a locker, the metallic bang resounding throughout the tiled, empty room.

Then he walked out without saying a word.

Eric showed up late for lunch that day, limping and obviously in some degree of pain. When Alex refused to stop asking questions about it, his concern overriding his normal respect for Eric's sense of pride, Eric finally all but admitted that Sean Parsons had pulled him back in the locker room after class and given Eric the beating of his life. Nothing so bad as to send him to the hospital, but plenty more than enough to make Sean feel good about pummeling a scrawny dork- and give Eric many, many bruises to think about tomorrow.

Of course, Eric didn't actually say it was Sean Parsons- even there he grew evasive, trying to excuse himself by saying he didn't really know who it was. But Alex knew. He knew that Eric, just like him, had the name of every asshole jock in their high school memorized, the car every stuck-up prep drove known by its make, model, and license plate number. Eric and Alex both had a lot of experience in memorizing the names and faces of their tormentors and enemies. So while Eric didn't name any names- perhaps afraid the individual would come after him if he told- Alex guessed easily enough.

Sean Parsons was football team second, and he was also one of Mr. Luce's favourites. Alex didn't even bother asking why Eric didn't tell anybody in the principal's office; they'd both been through that drill before.

Eric wasn't gonna tell anybody because he knew they wouldn't do anything.

But Alex had other ideas.

The next day, a certain brand-new Mitsubishi Montero ran off the road during the morning drive to school, slamming into a tree and crashing. The teenager driving it was often careless, and had as usual forgotten to put on his seat belt-the impact broke two of his ribs. Police were very curious as to the accelerated case of erosion that had caused the central brake cable to snap, rendering the Montero's brakes useless. But no one was looking for sabotage, though they came close. When the Parson elders blamed Mitsubishi, discussions were held with family lawyers and that was the end of it. Nobody even tested the broken cable to see if it had acid residue on it; Alex knew it would have.

He had to act very surprised when Eric told him of how he saw it, riding the bus to school that morning. He was shocked, amazed; he pressed for details and wanted to know more. Eric was just as eager to tell him; both boys had to be careful to hide it, but this chance injury to one of their least-favourite fellow students was a good piece of news, indeed. Eric bought Alex's surprised act easily; Alex had so much practice at it, Eric never once doubted that this was the first his friend had heard.

But Alex had to lie; he had to. It would have been overwhelming for Eric to know Alex had snuck out of his house at 4 in the morning, got under Sean's Montero with gloves and a small bottle of a specific kind of acid, and coated the brake cable with it by 5. He was down the street and gone at 5:15, and back in his bed not even twenty minutes later. He'd dressed just right for the occasion- anyone who saw him dismissed Alex almost immediately. So what? He was just some kid out on a morning run.

Something else Alex had to hide though, even beneath the fake shock and surprise, was real disappointment. Alex hadn't just been trying to hurt that asshole jock.

He'd been trying to kill him.

A special kind of fury had flared into life in Alex that day; when he'd gotten Eric home, ordered him to take his shirt off and seen the bruises already forming, Alex had nearly punched a hole in the wall of his room. He'd been more than pissed, far worse than furious. Alex had never even imagined a single person could feel that much hate at once- and survive.

But that Friday at lunch, with Eric's bruises slowly starting to fade and Sean Parson's accident behind them, Alex made Eric an offer. Well, not so much an offer as a promise.

He promised Eric that he would always be watching after this. He'd always be there, close up or at a distance, and he'd always protect Alex from jerk-off's like Sean. It was just what Eric deserved.

Eric had smiled shyly, immensely grateful but not sure how to say it. He didn't say no, though, so Alex had just smiled and nodded. "It's a deal," he said.

Those words, more than anything else, had on two occasions that week in junior year sealed the friendship between them.

"It's a deal."


End file.
